Touché D'Argent, Le Toucher De L'or
by Allureofproductivity
Summary: Touch can hurt. Touch can also heal, and she wants nothing more than for him to know that.
1. Chapter 1

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To say that he didn't like to be touched always seemed like a grossly understated way to describe just how much the feeling of hands on his skin made him want to vomit in terror, so he never said he didn't like it. He went with it, like he went with most everything he hated, through a fake smile and overshadowing intimidation and a thick layer of bravado to top it all off. Then he went home and scrubbed his skin raw under the shower head until he felt no lingering brush of a hand, slap on the back, or shoulder to the gut remaining on scarred pale skin.

He never actually intended for Allison to find out, but then, he never intended for her to be on the receiving end of one of his panic attacks either.

It happened innocently enough. He mouthed off a little too much to Finstock in practice and his ass was in the goal before he could say anything. Barely 5 minutes later, Aiden was on top of him, snarky grin on his too perfect face.

"Maybe you should practice more, Lahey." There was still a pressure on his chest, the boy on top of him, who was all too aware of his phobia, taking his own sweet time to drag himself back to his feet. Isaac's vision tunneled and his mouth filled with saliva. Somewhere far away, coach was yelling at him to get his ass off the ground, get back in the box, and act like a man, but he could do nothing but lay there, breathing too hard and too heavy and feeling vomit creep up his throat.  
Hands were on his shoulders, and he threw them off and ran, flat out sprinting towards the locker room, yanking off his helmet as he passed through the door and not caring where it landed, thrusting it away from him harder than he needed seconds later he was spewing sour yellow stomach acid down the shower drain in nothing but his lacrosse shorts, chest still heaving and frigid water pouring down his back.

He sank to his knees as he dry heaved, extremities beginning to tingle from lack of oxygen. He was very close to passing out and he slumped to his side, lying prone in the water with his legs tangled together like a child's. He barely heard the door slam against the wall, his name called, high pitched, worried, scared from the entrance to the dim room. He was unconscious before she could call for him again.  
He came around to see not only Allison, but Scott as well, crouched next to his head with one hand on his chest as he wheezed around the liquid trapped in his throat. He was on his side, blood trickling from his mouth and staining the cracked white tile he had collapsed on.

"Isaac, what happened?"  
He had no idea what had happened. All he knew was that his chest was burning and he desperately needed to puke again. He brought up water, tinged pink and swirled with yellow bile, right there on the floor, back straining and stomach clenching as a warm hand clasped around his wrist. He whimpered and jerked away, vaguely aware of a fleeting expression of hurt crossing her face. He wanted to apologize, wanted to tell her that he was sorry, he was an ass, and yeah, she could touch him, it was all cool, but instead he choked on air and let his eyes flash yellow before passing out again.

Anyways, that whole ordeal was the first of many reasons they now lay tangled together on top of her sheets, her soft hands grazing his cheekbones lightly, twisting strands of ashy curls around her fingers, running smooth palms up and down his spine as he focused on breathing, focused on what she'd said the first day she'd, well, Lydia really, but Allison had been the one to truly make an offer, recommended touch therapy.

"Yes, touch can hurt, and I get that. Trust me, Isaac, I get that. I just... I don't want you to spend the rest of your life fearing human contact. Touch can hurt, but touch can also heal."

Touch could also heal, and Allison was healing him, slowly. It was strictly platonic, these "sessions" of sorts, just two friends cuddling on a bed, watching some shitty B-list horror movie while one healed and the other stroked and petted and rubbed at tight muscles, traced scars, brushed through thick curls. He was getting better, less paralyzed by the fear that everytime something made contact he would get a scar from it.

She had told him the other day, as she rubbed his hands gently, working his long fingers between her own digits, that this was helping her heal. It was just a comment, a soft exchange of words that were soon drowned out by the sound of an overplayed scream of terror from their cinematic tour de force of the night, but he couldn't get them out of his mind.  
"Alls..."  
"Hmm?" She was sleepy and warm and soft and he almost gave up in trying to get anything out of her.  
"What am I helping you heal from?"  
She leaned closer to him, head on his collarbone, and he relished the feeling instead of cringing, which she noticed, and smiled at him.  
"Hatred."  
And yeah, he could help her heal from that. He knew hatred like he knew fear, sweat, full moon frenzies. Hatred was in his DNA, shoved further and further into him as an individual every time he was hit, cut, slapped, broken. He had first learned it as a child, mother dead and father vacant, and then again and again, Cam leaving, Cam dying, GOD FORBID he get something less than an A. Get in the damn freezer, get in the damn freezer, GET IN THE DAMN FREEZER ISAAC-  
She noticed a flinch, a shudder, and kissed his temple and traced his scars. He wiped her tears off with the pad of his thumb and wrapped an arm around her stomach and drew her closer  
He decided, as the credits rolled and his eyes got heavier and heavier, that this arrangement was quite mutually beneficial.

**Stay Shiny!**

**Allure**


	2. Chapter 2

Because it didn't post earlier, my tumblr is .com! Check it out!

stay shiny,

allure


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